


Jerk

by lamardeuse



Category: due South
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-04-14
Updated: 2010-04-14
Packaged: 2017-10-08 22:50:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 961
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/80307
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lamardeuse/pseuds/lamardeuse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Would you have me say I was hideously embarrassed?  Does that fit your perception of me?"</p>
            </blockquote>





	Jerk

**Author's Note:**

> Written for due South Flashfiction on Livejournal (masturbation challenge).

Ray can't stop laughing once Fraser gets enough of it out.

Enough of the story, that is. See, it would seem there's this Caribbean delegation--Ray isn't paying attention to the nationality, maybe they're from Jamaica or Haiti or fucking Fantasy Island for all he knows--going to be visiting the Consulate. The Ice Queen wants authentic Jerk Chicken, which is some kind of Caribbean dish, only the fancy-dancy caterers don't know Jerk Chicken from a hole in the wall, so hello! Big surprise! It becomes Fraser's job to make it.

That's where Turnbull comes in, because Fraser's about to head out the door to the nearest bookstore to find Martha Stewart Cooks Ethnic, when Clueless pops up and says, but sir, there are millions of recipes on the Internet, why not just perform a search? So Fraser sits down in front of his Apple, logs on and as soon as he types the words "Caribbean", "Jerk" and "Chicken" and hits the Search button, he gets--

\--a gigantic black guy yanking on his footlong dick until he comes all over the camera lens.

Of course, these are not the exact adjectives, verbs and nouns used by Fraser, but Ray gets enough of the general idea to fill in his own details, even though he's laughing before Frase gets anywhere near the punch line. When he finally finishes wiping the tears out of his eyes, he looks over at Fraser and sees that sourpuss-old-maid-librarian look on his face, but it's accompanied by a chin-to-forehead blush, so Ray only starts laughing all over again.

"I fail to see the humour in the situation. Constable Turnbull was mortified."

"That's because Turnbull probably didn't know a dick could do that," Ray says, between gasps for air. "And what about you, Frase?"

Fraser sucks in his lips like he's swallowed a lemon tree. "What about me? Did I know a penis was capable of ejaculation? Yes, I believe I did."

That kills Ray's laughter quicker than a bucket of ice. "No, not that. And Christ, Frase, newsflash, OK? No self-respecting guy calls it a 'penis'. I meant were you 'mortified,' too."

"What would you like to hear me say?"

Ray frowns, both at the weird question and the unexpectedly pissy tone in the other man's voice. "Come again?"

Bad choice of words, there, but it doesn't explain why Fraser suddenly shoots to his feet and walks over to the windows. Looks down at Ray's street, which isn't much to look at. "Would you have me say I was hideously embarrassed? Does that fit your perception of me?"

Ray stands up too, but isn't sure what to do next. "What do you--"

"Would you prefer a more jocular reaction, in keeping with the typical macho policeman's response to such activity? Perhaps I could throw in a few colourful euphemisms for good measure, to prove I'm 'one of the boys'?"

Definitely getting strange. Ray's feet take him to a place right beside Fraser, close but not too close. "Fraser, what the fuck--"

"Or would you rather an unpleasant revelation? Would you like to hear that I engage in such activity myself?"

Ray barks a laugh. "Frase, that does not reveal crap. Any guy who says he doesn't jerk off is a liar."

This time Fraser's voice is a whisper, like talking too loud is gonna open a wound. "How many men 'jerk off' while thinking of other men?"

Ray tries to shrug, but only gets half a shoulder up. God, does he _know_? But how could he--

Fuck. Shit. He tries it again, gets both shoulders up this time. "I dunno, what're the numbers, they say 'bout ten, fifteen percent--"

Fraser turns to him then, and the heat from him is blast-furnace hot. "And how many men 'jerk off' while thinking of you, Ray?"

Ray opens his mouth, but nothing's coming out, so he shuts it again.

And then Fraser's hands are on his shoulders and pulling him and pushing him and bam! he's up against the fucking window pane, with Fraser holding him in place, surrounding him, but not touching him anywhere except on his shoulders. Two points of contact, two lousy points, and Ray's burning here, he's a goddamned back yard patio party tiki torch, fucking engulfed. And Fraser's hanging his head and saying, "I tried, God knows I've tried, but that was all I could stand, that was all, and last night I lay in my cot and, oh, Ray, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, but I couldn't help--"

Fraser shuts himself up when his mouth slams into Ray's, and that's the third point of contact, hard and wet and deep and Ray makes a noise that might be a moan and then again might be a prayer.

And then Fraser lets him go, the hands leave his shoulders but it's too late, just turn off the hoses and let 'er burn, boys, there's nothing we can do now.

Ray's hand whips out and snares Fraser's wrist before he can get away. Fraser's eyes lift, and Ray's never seen them like that, shit-scared, because Fraser's not scared of anything, right?

Wrong. Fraser's scared of this.

And that's where Ray comes in. Because he was scared, but he's not now, Fraser gave him that, and it's payback time.

He tells him with his eyes, because he doesn't have the words yet, not yet. Fraser understands, at least enough to let go of some of that fear, but he's still frozen in place.

When Ray's sure Fraser isn't going to run, he lets go of his wrist and reaches for the button on his jeans. As he pulls down the zipper, he watches Fraser's eyes turn from ice to flame.

Ray leans in.

"Show me," he says.

**Author's Note:**

> First published May 2003.


End file.
